


Double Crossed

by el3anorrigby



Series: Kiss From A Rose [3]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-24 07:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4910524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I'm sure you’ve heard of this saying before, Agent Solo. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer."</p><p>The one where Napoleon has to choose between Illya and Gaby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The last story of this series. :)

When Napoleon comes to, he finds himself in a small, dark room with no windows. The air smells musty. He tries to move but the ropes around his arms are too tight. The chair squeaks when he struggles. And when he finds Agent James is sitting across him with a gun in hand, pointed straight at his head, his gut twists knowing that man is the reason behind his current predicament. 

“I'm sure you’ve heard of this saying before, Agent Solo. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

Napoleon blinks at the man before him. He should have known James is a rat. 

_“I do not like him. He asks too much about you.”_

Illya’s voice rings in his ears. He should have listened to him, he thinks regretfully.

“You led Walters to me before, didn’t you?” Napoleon asks after his mind has cleared. James smirks.

“A little slow on the uptake there, Solo.”

“But because I shot him before he could kill me off, you had to go save my life. Had to make Waverly believe, to avoid suspicion. Because really, no one could have known the location of that safe-house.”

Napoleon tries to shift in his restraints but James stops him. His cold hand grabs at Napoleon’s jaw hard and forces Napoleon to look him in the eye.

“Maybe you are right, Solo. But see, you made a mistake. You broke protocol that night. You calling your Russian partner was a good reason to deflect any suspicions my way. You should have listened to me.”

Napoleon grins despite his fear when James mentioned Illya. “I suppose I should have listened to you.”

James laughs as he toys with the gun in his other hand. “You know, UNCLE is a good organisation. It’s to be reckoned with. Fledgling, but good. However, they fail spectacularly when they recruited me. Didn’t do an extensive research on my background.”

Napoleon stays silent. His mind though, is racing. He tries to piece the puzzles together. But he doesn’t remember James during his time in the CIA. He can’t seem to place any connection between Walters and James. Something still doesn’t add up. 

“Don’t bother trying, Solo. I see what you’re thinking. I’d hidden my identity very well. Even the MI6 had missed it.”

Despite James’ tight hold on his jaw, Napoleon leans forward and tilts his head at him. “Do enlighten me.”

James' eyes hardens. “You destroyed my brother’s life, Solo. His wife. His family. I had to bear the brunt.”

Napoleon’s heart skips a beat. He never knew Walters had a brother. Or is James his half brother? He must be very good with his accent to have fooled them. Napoleon hums. 

“So this is the case of avenging your brother?” he questions, half mocks. His voice is calm, despite his anxiousness, tries his best to sound unperturbed. “Never thought I see that style in you James. Even your fucking brother didn’t have it in him.”

A sudden hard punch lands on Napoleon’s face. The inside of his cheek cuts against his teeth. He spits the blood in his mouth at his assailant’s face. Then a hard blow from the gun lands on his head. Blood trickles down his temple. 

“It took me years to track you down. Years. Then I learned about your mission in Rome and then your escapade with UNCLE. I gathered enough information to get my loan to UNCLE sanctioned by the MI6. Waverly, he’s too fucking soft for his own good. Someone should tell him that.”

Napoleon’s head throbs. Despite hurting, he lets out a cocky grin. “I’ll let him know.”

“Don’t be smug. You won’t live long enough to see him after this, Solo.”

Napoleon scoffs. ““So what are you waiting for? You have me now. Why don’t you just kill me? And you had me at your mercy at the safe-house. Why didn't you kill me then? Get it done and over with.”

“Now where’s the fun in that, eh? It'd be too easy.” 

Napoleon realises he's demented. He flinches back when James presses the gun muzzle hard underneath his chin.

“When Waverly decided to let me in this mission with you and your partners, I couldn’t believe my luck. I got you where I wanted.”

“You’re stupid, James. We’re in the middle of a mission. Waverly’s gonna know something’s up and when they find us…”

“Oh it won’t matter, Solo. Because by that time, you and your friends will be dead and I’ll be long gone. They won’t be able to catch me.”

Napoleon can feel the fear in him starting to build. He knows now Illya and Gaby are still alive judging by what James had just said. He needs to find them, needs to know where they are.

“Where are they?” he asks.

James merely smiles and shakes his head. He’s going to keep that information to himself for now. He slaps Napoleon hard on the face. 

“I’ve watched you, Solo. I try to learn as much as I could about you, know your every move, the way you think. I know your strength and I also know your weakness. And that’s how I know when to close in on you. I’ve blindsided you. And you fell right into my trap.”

Napoleon doesn’t make a sound when James unhooks the safety of his gun. He presses it harder against Napoleon’s chin. There is sure to be a bruise there if he lives through this hellish encounter. 

“Solo, I’ll let you know one thing. Like I’ve said before, I’ve studied your strength and your weakness. And I know for certain what your weakness is. It’s Kuryakin, isn’t it? The Russian.”

Napoleon stiffens at the mention of Illya’s name again. James' eyes are level with his. There’s a gleam in them, like a kid delighted at getting treats during Halloween, happy to get what he wants. James has that look now. He’s got Napoleon in the palm of his hands. 

“I can tell you care about the girl, Miss Teller. But Kuryakin, he’s a different story altogether.”

“You know nothing,” Napoleon spits. 

“Hmm, I don’t know about that. Let’s see if I can prove myself right. And there is only one way for us to find out. You’ll have to choose between the Russian and the girl.”

Napoleon freezes.

 

***

 

Illya groans as he stirs from unconsciousness. He slowly blinks, straining to keep his eyes open against the light in the room. He realises he’s tied down to a chair, fastened to the floor. He tugs at the ropes but finds the binds are tight around his wrists, knees and ankles. The chair creaks under his weight. If he tries hard enough he might just be able to break free. But he needs to assess the situation first. He has no idea how many people are holding them. He has no idea of the actual danger they are in. And he doesn’t even know how they got there. 

Illya decides to wait. 

He scans the situation around the room. He’s facing a large glass window overlooking another room. It’s empty save for a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. He then turns his attention on Gaby beside him who’s in the same situation as he is. She appears unhurt. 

“Gaby? Gaby? Are you okay?” Illya calls out, his voice hushed but firm. He tries to stay calm. He calls her again. “Gaby?”

Gaby whimpers. She slowly comes through. Her eyes squints at Illya. “Illya, what-what happened?” 

She struggles against the ropes. “How? Illya? Where are we?”

Illya shakes his head. He’s suddenly aware that he really doesn’t know where they are. And what’s worse, he doesn’t even know where Napoleon is. His gut twists painfully. He tries hard to remember the events from earlier before but he can’t recall much. The last thing he does remember was them being in their hotel room with Napoleon and Agent James. They’d been drinking, discussing their mission. Illya grimaces. He has a bad feeling that James might have been involved in this treachery they are currently in. He believes they’d been drugged.

“Illya? Where’s Solo?”

Illya’s heart lurches with worry. He tries to give Gaby assurance but the fear in his eyes betrays him. Against her bonds, she reaches out a hand to him. He touches her fingers. “Waverly will find us. We’ll be alright. He’d know something is wrong right about now.”

But Illya doesn’t know that for sure. And he fears it’ll be too late by the time Waverly gets to them.

 

***

 

The sound of a door opening and footsteps from the next room shifts the two bound agents’ attention. Illya’s heart sinks when he sees the two men on the other side of the glass. Gaby lets out a choked gasp. Agent James has a gun pointed at Napoleon’s bloodied temple. There is also a gun in Napoleon’s cuffed hands.

“I’m sorry it had come to this, agents,” James’ voice fleets through a hidden speaker in the room. Illya bristles. He’d been right. James had indeed double crossed them. But why? And for what? All the answers to his questions will have to wait. 

“You must be wondering what’s going to happen next, Agent Kuryakin and Teller.”

Illya catches Napoleon’s eyes. There’s fear in them, he’s sure. His gut churns. 

“Don’t you want to know, Illya?” James asks, turning his attention on the Russian, gun still trained on Napoleon. Illya in response says nothing and this makes James rather angry. “Don’t you want to know?!” he shouts.

“What do you want, coward?” Illya growls this time, his rage kicking in. James snickers.

“Agent Solo here is going to prove my theory right,” he explains. He instigates Napoleon at his side. “Won’t you, Solo?”

Illya sees him press the gun hard on Napoleon’s temple. His body jerks. He has to do something but he knows he cannot do anything rash. Not yet. James has the upper hand. Any wrong move and the bastard will shoot Napoleon. It’s too dangerous. Illya recoils but he has to get Napoleon’s attention.

“Napoleon!” Illya calls, his voice low, angry and frantic but Napoleon only smiles. His eyes are bright on Illya. He’s telling him it’ll all be alright and that they’ll get out of this alive. And Illya wants to believe him. 

Napoleon has calculated the risks. He could pull the gun on James but his hands are cuffed. He worries he might not be quick enough to pull the trigger. 

“Okay, as discussed, agent. Either you shoot the Russian or you shoot the girl. It’s your choice. Make a decision, Solo." James then leans in close to Napoleon, says loud enough for Illya and Gaby to hear him. "But I'm betting you'll shoot the girl.”

Hearing that, Illya growls through gritted teeth. His hands twitches. He clenches them into fists. Gaby sweats at the situation before them. She shakes her head at Napoleon. Napoleon’s assuring eyes flicker towards Gaby. She knows he won’t do it but she fears for his life.

“Now, Solo. Don’t make me shoot you now. I want to see this drama unfolds first before you die.”

Napoleon agonises. He feels awful and a whole lot of terrible. He actually wishes he could save Illya from this terrible predicament but he can’t forsake Gaby. He could never choose between them. Never.

“What you should know is this gun on your head is loaded. I have four rounds and one bullet.”

The gun barrel brushes the side of Napoleon’s head and both Illya and Napoleon swallow. The gun in Napoleon’s hand, meant to kill one of his partners, is still at his side, pressed against his thigh. He grips it hard. 

“I won’t shoot.”

“Do you want to die, Solo?”

"You're gonna kill me anyway. Either way, I'll lose."

Then he hears the hammer click by his ear. Nothing. Napoleon gasps and shudders. Illya flinches. He lunges forward, hard. The chair scrapes the floor. But only just. 

“One down, three to go, Solo.”

James circles around Napoleon like a predator, gun still close to his head and mocks him when Napoleon stays stock still.

“Their petty lives hold more value than your own? You’re pathetic. My brother should have killed you when he had the chance.”

Illya hears James. What is he talking about. Who is his brother?

The hammer clicks again. Another dry click. Illya knows well enough Napoleon would never give in. He’ll trade his life for theirs. Illya strains frantically against his binds. “No, Napoleon!”

“Maybe the next one will be the one?” James continues to taunt but Napoleon stays defiant. 

“Kill me if you must but I won’t shoot them.”

“You mean you won’t shoot the Russian. But you will shoot the girl.”

He shuts his eyes. If he has to die this way, then so be it. It won’t be at the expense of Illya or Gaby.

“Napoleon, please!”

He could hear Gaby. And Illya. Napoleon opens his eyes. They are about ten yards away. The panic on Illya’s face is palpable, his eyes wide with fear. 

“For fuck’s sakes, to save you trouble, I’ll shoot the girl for you.” 

James switches his target and points his gun at Gaby. Napoleon shouts. “No! Don’t!”

Napoleon’s gun is raised now, pointed straight at James. “Put the gun down.”

James turns and realises the mistake he’d make. He’d been impatient. He smiles. 

“Something like a Mexican standoff this,” James says. Napoleon shakes his head. His grip on his gun is firm, trigger at the ready. “Nope. We need three for that and now there are only two of us with guns. And one of us is not gonna make it out of this alive.”

“Cowboy, no!” 

Napoleon can feel the rage and fear in Illya’s voice but he can’t let Illya distract him now. He swallows down his panic and in a restrained voice, he tries one last time to coax James into giving up. He will not kill a man if given a chance. Not even a man as crazy as James.

“Do you want to put that gun down now, agent? If I counted right, you have two rounds and one bullet left.”

“And you have one too, Solo. Remember, _I gave you_ that gun. I’d know.”

That’s the one thing Napoleon had miscalculated. James indeed had given him the gun and he will have to take his chance. But within a split second, something changed in James’ face and Napoleon knows what’s going to happen next. 

The gun in his hand fires. 

_“Solo!”_

Napoleon wishes he had listen to Illya when the Russian had constantly complained about James, about his inquisitiveness towards Napoleon. Next time, he would have to consider the Russian’s jealous rage in their arguments, if there is to be a next time. The bullet whizzes past him, but it grazes his temple. He falls to the ground in a heap. 

 

***

 

_“No!”_

When Illya sees Napoleon fall, his heart stops. He shouts, _roars_ in grief. Panic and rage overwhelms him at once. In one enormous effort, he manages to break free from his restraints. The chair breaks and he falls forward, trembling. 

“Illya!”

Gaby’s eyes are wide. She strains at her chair and Illya quickly gets up, helps her loosen her ropes with shaky hands. He needs to get to Napoleon. 

“Go to him, I can do this,” Gaby orders, understanding and Illya, needing no further invitation, bolts to the next room. He crashes the door down. The first thing he sees as he stumbles into the room is James. He is crumpled by the wall. The bullet had hit his throat. His hands are around it, his mouth spewing blood. He gurgles as he lays there, dying. 

But Illya has no time to worry about James. He surges past him and drops to his knees by his partner’s side. He cradles Napoleon’s face, his voice frantic. 

“Cowboy? Can you hear me? Napoleon!”

“Illya,” Napoleon breathes. His head hurts like hell. He feels like it’s been smashed to a thousand pieces but he still could flash a smile at the handsome Russian who is looking down at him with panicked eyes. “Remind me to thank Waverly for this lovely weekend.”

Illya lets out a shaky breath of relief and leans in, kisses Napoleon’s bloodied lips hard. 

“Mm, it hurts,” Napoleon croaks against Illya’s mouth after he’d let him in for a breather. 

“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re alright,” Illya repeats like a mantra. He leans his head against the crook of Napoleon’s neck and exhales in pure relief. His jumbled up emotions that floods through his body is almost enough to knock him down cold. He then lifts his head to look at Napoleon again and wipes the blood off his face with his bare fingers.

“I can thank my lucky stars James is a bad shot,” Napoleon groans.

“Stop joking,” Illya argues, his voice rough with concern. He helps Napoleon up and studies his eyes. “There’s a lot of explanation to be done, Cowboy. But for now, let’s get you some help.”

Napoleon swallows heavily. His still cuffed hands tug at Illya’s arms and pulls him in for another kiss. He's lucky to be alive, again. He doesn’t know when his luck will run out though. But Illya sees it immediately in his face, knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“Napoleon, don't. Don’t say it. Don’t you dare think it.”

Napoleon nods. He knows Illya doesn’t like to hear it but that’s the risk they will have to deal with for as long as they are together. They would just need to keep their fears to themselves. 

“Okay, Peril, I won’t. I won’t say anything.” 

He pulls Illya in again and gives him a hard reassuring kiss. Then he smiles as Illya pulls him up to his feet gingerly. “Now let’s go help Gaby.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon, Illya and Gaby deal with the aftermath after Agent James had double crossed them. Illya however, doesn't handle it too well.

After Waverly and his men had come to save them, they are brought back to UNCLE’s headquarters at once. Napoleon’s extent of injuries requires medical attention so he’s later sent to hospital with Gaby accompanying him. Illya stays back with Waverly, although he had insisted to follow Napoleon at first. Albeit his reluctance, Illya is now being briefed by Waverly regarding Agent James’ dubious background and he knows he is not going to like what he’s about to hear.

“As you’d suspected, Kuryakin, James had drugged the three of you. He has connections, his own network of people that help him run his deeds. He’d hired some of them to help him bring you three to that abandoned warehouse. When none of you made contact as scheduled, I’d suspected something was wrong. And luckily our intel was quick enough to gather information on his goons and your whereabouts.”

They are on the fifth floor of the building, inside Waverly’s office, and now Waverly is showing him some slides he had managed to secure from his friends at MI6 and the CIA regarding James.

The first image shows James and his brother Patrick Walters when they were kids, and then in the second slide, there is a picture of a woman, drinking and laughing with them. She was Patrick Walters’ wife. 

“Apparently that picture was taken a few months before she died,” Waverly explains, pointing at the slide. “As I’ve said to you before, Walters had blamed Solo for her death. When he was sent to prison, his brother took the brunt of his problems and somehow had waged a personal vendetta against Solo for destroying his family. James even masterminded his brother’s escape from prison.”

“How did MI6 and UNCLE missed all this information?” Illya asks in a controlled manner. 

Waverly catches the tension in his voice. He knows Illya is angry at UNCLE’s apparent carelessness. But Illya must know as head of the organisation, he’s fully responsible for his agents’ safety and that he is treating this case as his top priority. Eyeing Illya carefully, he then leans forward and laces his fingers together, his hands on the table. The slides have stopped. Illya looks at Waverly in silence and waits for his explanation. The older man seems to consider his words for a moment. 

“I know you’re upset about what happened. I’m too as well, believe me,” Waverly begins. “And I’m not going to give you excuses because the truth is UNCLE did slip up.”

Despite his pent up anger, Illya appreciates Waverly’s honesty. He nods at him and continue to let his worries known. “James managed to get to Solo so easily. It worries me. We had no idea.”

“He’d hidden his background pretty well, Kuryakin. I guess there are loopholes within MI6’s and UNCLE’s recruitment process which certainly needs to be enhanced after this. More extensive checks need to be done. And we even need to reevaluate all our current agents as well. In fact, the reevaluation process is being done now as we speak.”

Illya had never felt so angry. Yes, he is the master of rage and there’d been lots of time when rage had consumed him to a point where he couldn’t be reasoned with but this time, it is a different type of anger. It had concerned people he actually cares about. It had concerned Napoleon. Thinking how he’d almost died at the madman’s hand, not to mention Gaby and him as well sends a shiver down Illya’s spine. If James’ shot had meandered a little to the left…

Illya doesn’t want to think about it. He can’t. He tries to focus his attention once more on Waverly. 

“James. He passes of well as a Brit. But his brother Walters was American, yes?”

Waverly nods, smiles cynically. 

“We dug into his history further.” 

Waverly then places James’ file on the table and flips it open. 

“Phil Walters alias Adam James was a polyglot. He mastered multiple languages, was able to blend undetected in foreign countries like he was a local. It was his god given talent, was a brilliant student, had a bright future. But he dropped off the radar after his brother’s incarceration. He’d never had any history with the authorities and no one had thought his disappearance would actually be a concern. Not until today when we’d found out his true identity.”

Illya sags in his chair. To think the same man had spent days with Napoleon in that safe-house, alone. He closes his eyes and visibly shudders. 

“Illya,” Waverly calls him after a moment and Illya looks at his superior. There is a kind understanding in Waverly’s eyes. “I think it’s best we continue this later when your mind is clearer, together with Miss Teller and once Solo’s feeling a little better.”

“Yes,” Illya simply says. He doesn’t argue. 

“You’re excused.”

Without saying a word, he nods at Waverly in kind, stands and quickly makes his way out the door.

 

***

 

Napoleon lets his eyes slip close. He’s so tired and all he wants to do is crash and sleep. But his splitting headache and aches all around his body prevents him from doing so. He is just sore all over. He wants Illya to be there but his partner is currently being debriefed by Waverly. He wonders how Illya is taking the news. 

Thinking about James again and how he’d spent days with that man in their safe-house, while all the while having no inclination at all of his connection to Walters makes Napoleon rather nauseous. He leans his head back against the cushions and wills the horrible thoughts away. He’s had enough of it for one day.

“Solo?”

The door to his apartment opens. Napoleon turns to see Gaby at the entrance. She closes the door and then walks over to the sofa before taking a seat beside him. After they’d met the doctors at the hospital, Gaby had driven him to his apartment. 

“How are you feeling?” she asks, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “Better?”

Napoleon pouts. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a thousand bus. And my head feels like it’s being repeatedly hit by a wrench.”

“Well, a bullet did graze you right here and the one on your left is pretty nasty too,” Gaby says as she gestures at the wound on his right temple before turning his face slightly with her fingers to look at the nasty gash on his left. The wounds have been cleaned and neatly stitched. It’ll definitely leave scars once it’s healed. 

“He’s not so smart, was he?” Gaby says after a while, talking about James. “He wanted to kill you and yet, he gave you a weapon.”

“I think he felt like he’s got nothing to lose. And I guess I’m just extremely lucky he’s a bad shot or else you won’t be sitting with me right now, Miss Teller.”

Gaby glares at Napoleon. He certainly knows how to ruin her mood. “Okay, you can stop talking now, Solo.”

He grins. He loves how she scowls when she’s angry. He teases her further. “Would you miss me when I’m gone?”

“Stop joking, Solo. I hate it when you take things lightly like this. Illya hates it as well.”

She’s outright angry now. And Napoleon knows when to stop when Gaby is in a real foul mood.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he says, pleading for forgiveness. Gaby gives him a sympathetic look then rolls her eyes when Napoleon whimpers like a sad puppy. He leans his head on her shoulder. “Angry?”

“Well, you’ve to learn not to say idiotic things that makes my blood boil,” Gaby huffs and that makes Napoleon laugh. 

“What the hell did I do to deserve all this?”

She puts her arm around his shoulders. “You did nothing. Now, you need to rest. You heard what the doctor said.”

“I know. Thanks, mom.”

There is a comfortable silence between them after that. As they sit there, Gaby runs her fingers gently through his soft hair and kisses his forehead. No matter how much Napoleon annoys her some time, she does actually care for him. Her heart had stopped and she had feared the worst when she saw him drop like a rag doll after James’ gun had gone off. That sight, together with Illya on the ground, groaning in anguish is something Gaby wants to forget. She squeezes her arm tighter around his shoulders. 

“Illya will be here soon.”

“Mm hmm,” Napoleon murmurs, too lazy to say anything. Her presence calms him and he wonders what he would do without Gaby in his life. A realisation suddenly hits him. 

“Gaby, you do know I wouldn’t have done it.”

Gaby shifts in her seat and removes her arm from around him. Her eyes are full of questions. 

“What do you mean?”

Napoleon sighs. He slowly takes Gaby’s hands in his and rubs his thumbs over her knuckles. His eyes are cast down, averting her gaze.

“When he’d asked me to choose. Between Illya and you, I…”

Napoleon stops like he doesn’t know how to finish his sentence. He sounds wounded, guilty. She understands what’s he’s trying to say now.

“Shh, it’s okay, Solo. It’s over. I know you wouldn’t have done it. You may infuriate me, you may annoy the hell out of me but you have the kindest heart and no scum like James is ever going to make me believe otherwise.

She pulls him into a tight hug, soothing his fears. 

“Thanks, Gaby. I don’t want you think that it’d been an easy choice.”

Gaby shushes him. “Don’t speak. Just rest, okay?”

Napoleon nods and lets his body sag against her. He hates to think if the stakes had been raised, if he’d been forced with no other options, would he have done it? No. He knows he’d rather die than do the unthinkable.

 

***

 

“Cowboy? Wake up.”

Napoleon feels hands shaking his shoulders gently, hears a familiar voice calling out to him. He thinks he’s dreaming.

“Napoleon? Wake up.” The shake on his shoulders persists. 

“Wha-at?” he mumbles. He opens his eyes and blinks. Illya is peering down at him with concerned eyes. “Peril?”

“Why are you on sofa? You should be sleeping inside, on the bed.”

“I was waiting for you,” Napoleon says. He yawns and stretches, notices there’s a blanket covering his body. Gaby must have put it on him while he’d slept. He smiles at the thought. 

“What time is it, Illya? Gaby left hours ago.”

“It’s late,” Illya replies, his answer short. Napoleon frowns hearing Illya’s tensed voice but decides to ignore it. He checks the time on the wall and realises Illya had been gone for hours. 

“Where did you go? You should’ve been here hours ago.”

“I went for a walk,” Illya says. Again his reply is curt. Something’s clearly wrong. Knowing he needs to address the situation, Napoleon immediately sits up, throwing the blanket off his body but the sudden movement gave him a head rush, making him dizzy. He closes his eyes at once and leans his head back against the cushions, waits for the sensation to subside.

“You okay, Cowboy?” Illya asks, worried. He wants to reach out to Napoleon but holds himself back. 

“I’m okay,” Napoleon answers as he slowly opens his eyes again.

Illya is eyeing him but he’s still standing by the sofa, not moving an inch. He seems a little distant and Napoleon finds his behaviour unsettling. He wants to fret at his niggling thoughts. Instead he asks him about his debrief with Waverly.

“So how did it go with Waverly. What did he tell you?”

Illya stares at Napoleon for another second or so before he answers him. 

“He explained about James. About his personal vendetta against you. How he’d tracked you all this years. He helped his brother escape, trying to help him kill you.”

There’s clear venom in Illya’s words and Napoleon thinks he knows now what’s bothering Illya. Slowly, he stands to his feet and takes a few steps towards him, pulling him close. Illya doesn’t back away but he stiffens at Napoleon’s touch and looks down at his feet. The unexpected reaction brings a frown to Napoleon’s face.

“Hey, Illya, look at me. It’s all over. James is dead. Walter’s dead. You’ve got nothing to worry about if this is why you’re acting the way you do now.”

“He was with you in that house alone for four days, Cowboy! Four days! Alone,” Illya argues, finally snapping. He lets go of Napoleon’s hold. “He could’ve killed you.”

Napoleon sighs then shakes his head.

“But he didn’t, Illya. And I’m still here,” he tries to explain, trying his best to stay calm. Napoleon completely understands why Illya is acting this way because he has the same thoughts, the same fears. But he refuses to acknowledge it. And he doesn’t want to fuel the fire because the flames will be difficult to subside once it starts. 

He tries to coax Illya again. “It’s all over now, Illya. It’s over. Let’s pretend all this never happened.”

“How can you pretend? It’s not easy,” Illya retorted. His eyes are narrowed and there’s a fierce seriousness in his voice. When Napoleon tries to approach Illya again, he sees the Russian stepping back, hesitating to his touch. He’s never acted this way, not after they’d got together and suddenly Napoleon worries. Is Illya having second thoughts about them?

“Illya, what’s going on?” 

There’s a different kind of fear in Napoleon now and Illya knows what he’s thinking. Instead of answering, he leaves him there as he strides into the bedroom. Napoleon immediately goes after him.

“Hey, Peril, why are you walking away?” Napoleon calls out to him, his voice almost a growl. He grabs Illya’s arm and whirls him around. Illya retaliates by shoving him back. He’s using aggression against Napoleon, something which he hasn’t done for sometime and this shocks Napoleon.

“What’s wrong with you and why won’t you talk to me, damnit? Why are you so angry?”

Truthfully, Illya is more scared than angry. He’s afraid. His emotions are a jumbled mess. All the possibilities that could have happened while Napoleon had been with that man, alone and helpless, are running through his mind and Illya can’t stop thinking about it. And he keeps seeing Napoleon fall, he keeps hearing his own screams when he thought Napoleon had…

Illya stutters and groans. He can see Napoleon’s hurt and he’d caused it. He panics because this is not how he’d intended things to be. His intention is to make Napoleon understand his fears, not drive him away. The air in the room is heavy with tension as both men stood opposite of each other, just waiting for the other to start. The throb in Napoleon’s head hurts more than ever now, he feels like falling but he tells himself he can’t give up. He needs to break the Russian down.

“I have all night, Illya,” he says eventually, breaking the silence. “And I’m not gonna stop until you tell me what’s going on.”

“I used to worry, if something bad ever happens to you,” Illya starts tentatively. He looks at Napoleon, into his hurt eyes. “I wonder, how I would react if that happens. I always thought I could handle it. And I know I could. But that was before, Cowboy.”

“Before?” Napoleon asks, not quite understanding. “Before what?”

“Before _us. Together_. Before today.”

“Illya,” Napoleon starts but Illya cuts him off.

“This mission. It was our first after you came back from injury. Our first mission together after we…” Illya pauses. He takes in a deep breath, like he’s gathering his thoughts. “It’s hard, Solo. Do you understand what I’m tying to say?”

Napoleon nods but doesn’t say a word. He takes a step closer towards Illya. He ensures Illya can’t escape from him again by putting his arms around him. He holds him tight. Illya used to scare him whenever they get too close, but not anymore. Now, the thought of Illya pulling away, trying to run from him, scares Napoleon. He kisses the corner of his mouth and feels Illya leaning into him.

“I understand your fears, Peril. I have the same fears too, believe me.”

“But it’s worse for me. I saw you get shot. I saw you fall.”

“And I thought I was dead. I thought that was it. I thought I wasn't gonna see you again. That’s worse, Illya.”

Illya groans. He grasps Napoleon’s arms off of him and holds his hands in his. “This feeling. It’s a liability when we go on missions, Cowboy. It’s so difficult.” 

Napoleon’s breath hitches at those words, his heart almost stops. 

“So what are you saying? You want to call it quits?” 

Illya’s eyes grow wide with horror. “ _No!_ No. No, Cowboy. That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what are you saying?” Napoleon says mournfully. His body is tensing up. “Because I don’t think I can survive if that happens, Peril.”

Illya says nothing. Instead he bends down and kisses Napoleon, slow and gentle. Illya wills him to feel what he’s feeling at that moment in that kiss. How can Napoleon even think he’d ever want to let him go. Illya would be out of his mind to do that.

“I’m just afraid to lose you,” he finally admits, his voice almost a choked sob. “I’ve never been more afraid of that than today.”

“Illya,” Napoleon breathes but Illya doesn’t wait for him to say or explain anything, he just captures those lips that drive him crazy, steals the words out of Napoleon’s mouth. One hand curls around his neck, the other tangles in his hair. He kisses him, long and hard and furious. A small pleading groan can be heard, and Illya isn’t sure whether it’s Napoleon or him that’s making the sound. They soon stumble on the bed.

“We signed up for this together, Illya. It comes with all the risks. You know it. And we’ve to face it. Together,” Napoleon murmurs, grasping Illya’s arms that are braced on either side of his body. Illya looks at the man below him, doesn’t say a thing but only kisses Napoleon again, harder this time. He cannot remember when he’s ever wanted anyone that much in his entire life. He never knew he could ever have so much passion for another and he needs to show him just how much. Illya then grinds his hips against his, reaches a hand between them for Napoleon’s cock and feels his breath hitch. His deft hand strokes and teases, again and again, and soon Napoleon’s writhing and panting against Illya’s lips. “Please, Illya.”

Illya doesn’t need to think twice after that, and then his hand is jerking him roughly, harder and faster and Napoleon comes, shaking, trembling, Illya's touches sending him completely over the edge. 

Illya shivers at the beautiful sight before him. This is exactly what he wants to show Napoleon. This is what he wants him to feel. And although his fear may not subside anytime soon, Illya knows holding on to this man is worth risking everything for. Even his life.


End file.
